


Fezfic: Unsuitable Military Headgear

by neveralarch



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-30
Updated: 2010-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor really wants another fez. Turns out getting and keeping one might be more difficult than just a quick trip to the shops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fezfic: Unsuitable Military Headgear

Amy doesn't like fezzes. That's fine, he can get around her. More problematic is the fact that Rory's an auton-thing now, with a gun for a hand, and also he's married to Amy, not that he argued much with her before. In short, he keeps shooting the fezzes off the Doctor's head.

He's gone through three fezzes just this week, including one with a lovely gold tassel which is now in bits on the console room's floor. That's three hats which need not have come to such pointless ends. Three hats too many.

Luckily, he has a cunning plan. Somewhere in the wardrobe is a fez that he picked up in Istanbul during the fifth Ottoman Empire. This particular fez was used in a very traditional way by the military - except instead of using it to cushion a helmet, they just folded a neat little force field over the whole thing.

"Hah," mutters the Doctor to himself. "Let's see Rory blow up _that_."

He winds down the corridors, climbs two sets of stairs, one straight, one spiral, and then finally begins to descend the long ladder that leads to the cavernous wardrobe. Finding this particular hat might take a while, but he has time. Rory and Amy have declared tonight "married people's evening," or, in Amy's specific words, "make yourself scarce unless you want to listen to us have sex for the rest of the night." The Doctor absolutely does not want to have that experience, especially after the last four nights. Honestly, he's just glad they gave him a bit of a warning this time.

The wardrobe lights up around him as he sets his foot on the last rung. The Doctor jumps down and spins slowly, taking in the overflowing closets, the chests, the unwashed and unsorted clothing heaped carelessly on the floor. For a man who usually only wears one basic outfit per regeneration, two variations at the outside, he certainly manages to acquire a lot of surplus. He blames his third, really he does. Compulsive shopping sprees were just one of those vices he had turned to while exiled on Earth.

The fez, meanwhile, he hasn't seen since just before the Time War. But he can remember where he put it, of course. It's... just... hm.

The Doctor hesitates, and then flings open a chest at random, kicking it shut when it proves to be full of spats.

This might take a while.

\---

Five hours and fourteen minutes later, there is still no fez. The Doctor has found fedoras, bowlers, homburgs, bonnets, mob caps, and that odd, tall, felty sugarloaf hat that he used to wear. None of them are red and conical, with maybe a tassel on top. None are cool.

There's really only one place left to look. He has to venture into the depths of the wardrobe, where the TARDIS never bothers to clean. Perhaps the fez rolled there - a downside to its conicalness - and never got back out again. There are things living in the back corners of the wardrobe, things which eat whatever comes near and don't understand the difference between completely useless spare accoutrements and hats that the Doctor really, really needs right now.

On the other hand, this particular fez has a force field, so it's probably okay.

The Doctor rubs his hands together and strolls into a promising-looking dark corner, careful to look out for signs of danger.

Nothing. Dust and dresses.

He turns, warily, and strikes out for the next likely patch.

Trousers and a pair of hot pants which certainly do not belong to him.

The Doctor frowns, and stumbles blindly into the next dark area, which unfortunately contains a living fungus which promptly tries to absorb his leg. The Doctor yelps and scrambles back.

"That was completely uncalled for!"

The fungus says nothing, because it has no mouth. It does, however, have a fez perched upon a lump which might pass for a head. It gives the fungus a jaunty look, the bright red of the fez setting off the pale green of its outer layer of fur.

"That's mine," says the Doctor. "I've been looking everywhere for that." He steps forward, arm outstretched to reclaim his erstwhile hat, and then has to pause and reconsider when the fungus once again tries to engulf his limbs.

"Can't we reach a compromise? A compromise where you give me back my fez?" The Doctor waits.

"Okay, perhaps not." He pulls out his sonic screwdriver, and aims it at the fungus. "I wouldn't normally do this, but I really do want that hat. I'll try not to hurt you too much."

The sonic turns on, and does absolutely nothing.

"Oh, stupid, stupid," says the Doctor. "The force field has extended down from the fez to you, and now I can't to do anything to harm you. Not anything that wouldn't take the TARDIS with you, anyway."

The fungus, perhaps with some consciousness of what has just happened, begins to roll toward the Doctor.

"No, don't do that," he says, backing away. "I don't know what would happen if you managed to eat me, but I don't particularly want to find out. Why don't you just stop moving so ominously and we can go our separate ways."

The fungus instead continues to advance, pushing the Doctor backwards. It leaves a thin sheen of slime on the floor behind it, one that looks harmless until the rug starts to hiss and smoke.

The Doctor makes a break for it, leaping up the ladder. After a moment, he comes back down and snatches a hat from the pile of rejects. Perhaps, he decides, it's cool enough for now.

\---

"What is that? What are you wearing?" Amy's always talkative after "married people's evening," and Rory's usually exhausted and asleep. The Doctor half-turns away from the console, torn between being the sole object of Amy's attention and wanting her to shut up and leave him and his beautiful new hat alone.

"It's a capeline," he says. "Sort of a metal skullcap for archers. It's cool. Heavy, but cool. Look, it's got a brim, keeps the sun off." The Doctor fingers the brim happily. Amy just looks skeptical.

"Won't you get hot in that? We were going to go to the beach."

"Amy, we just were at Space Florida. What is your fixation with beaches? They're merely places with water and land in the same vicinity."

"That was before the universe exploded. Also, we never got to see Rio."

"Amy, if I take you to Rio, will you let me keep the capeline?"

"Hm." Amy considers it. "No. I'm going to go get Rory-"

"Amy, please, I say this with complete honesty, two very bad things will happen if you do that." The Doctor looks imploring, and Amy hesitates, waiting for him to explain. "First of all, Rory will try to shoot my hat off my head, but he can't, because it's a steel skullcap and that would really hurt." Amy makes a face that seems to discount the Doctor's completely reasonable concern for his well-being. But he soldiers on, or archers on, whichever is more appropriate. "Second, I'll have to go back in the wardrobe, and there's an angry fungus-thing growing there. Don't force me to sacrifice myself, just for a hat."

"You could give up on the hats for now," points out Amy. "I don't think they look good on you, and you keep picking the most ridiculous ones."

"Don't be absurd," says the Doctor. "Anyway, if I listened every time someone told me I was being ridiculous, where would I be today?"

"Well," says Amy in the long drawn-out way that means she's actually thinking about it this time. "I suppose it can stay. On a trial basis, mind."

The Doctor is completely dignified, and does not whoop in excitement.

\---

He does cry a little when he loses the capeline on the planet of the living magnets, though.


End file.
